Departed spirits of the mighty dead!

Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled!

Friends of the world! reftore your fwords to man,

405

Fight in his facred cause, and lead the van!

Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone,

And make her arm puiffant as your own!

Oh! once again to Freedom's cause return

The patriot TELL the BRUCE OF BANNOCKBURN! 41@

Yes! thy proud lords, unpitied land! fhall fee

That man hath yet a foul-and dare be free!

A little while, along thy faddening plains,

The starless night of defolation reigns;

Truth fhall restore the light by Nature giv❜n,

And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of Heav'n!

2

415

Prone to the duft oppreffion fhall be hurl'd,

Her name, her nature, wither'd from the world!

Ye that the rifing morn invidious mark,

And hate the light-because your deeds are dark; 420

Ye that expanding truth invidious view,

And think, or with the fong of Hope untrue;
Perhaps your little hands prefume to span
The march of Genius, and the pow'rs of man;
Perhaps ye watch, at Pride's unhallow'd fhrine,
Her victims, newly flain, and thus divine :—

"Here fhall thy triumph, Genius, cease, and here,

Truth, Science, Virtue, close your short career."

425

Tyrants! in vain ye trace the wizard ring;

In vain ye limit Mind's unwearied fpring:

с

430

What can ye lull the winged winds asleep,

Arreft the rolling world, or chain the deep?

No :-the wild wave contemns your scepter'd hand;— It roll'd not back when Canute gave command!

Man! can thy doom no brighter foul allow?
Still must thou live a blot on Nature's brow?
Shall War's polluted banner ne'er be furl'd?
Shall crimes and tyrants cease but with the world?
What! are thy triumphs, facred Truth, belied?

435

Why then hath Plato liv'd-or Sydney died?

440

Ye fond adorers of departed fame,

Who warm at Scipio's worth, or Tully's name!

Ye that, in fancied vifion, can admire

The fword of Brutus, and the Theban lyre!

Wrapt in hiftoric ardour, who adore

445

Each claffic haunt, and well-remember'd shore,

Where Valour tun'd, amid her chosen throng,

The Thracian trumpet and the Spartan fong;

yore,

Hath Valour left the world-to live no more?

Or, wand'ring thence, behold the later charms
Of England's glory, and Helvetia's arms!
See Roman fire in Hampden's bofom fwell,
And fate and freedom in the fhaft of Tell!
Say, ye fond zealots to the worth of

450

Yes! in that generous caufe for ever strong,

The patriot's virtue, and the poet's fang,

Still, as the tide of ages rolls away,

Shall charm the world, unconfcious of decay!

Yes! there are hearts, prophetic Hope may trust, 465

Or, warm with Fancy's energy, to glow,

And rival all but Shakspeare's name below!

And fay, fupernal Powers! who deeply fcan Heav'n's dark decrees, unfathom'd yet by man,